Excluded
by chandlerina
Summary: My take on how season 10-Grissom would react running into season 10-Heather. Definitely autumn themed. Heather's skin is so pale in the cold, autumn breeze.


The sky was a canvas of grays, the air cold, making him shiver as he left the university. It had been a long day and as he glanced at the sky above the trees, he realized that it was already getting dark. Again. He sighed. Autumn had reached Las Vegas. And yet again, he found himself here. Paris had been good for him, really good, but it had also made him miss his home. The brutal desert and the dusty winds. The trees were changing colors all around him, the wind freezing. Autumn in Las Vegas was a lot different from autumn in Paris, where the cold weather stayed for a long time. Where it didn't come as a shock.

Pulling his collar up around his neck, he shivered again before climbing in behind the wheel of his car. One more stop, then he'd finally be back home. He pulled out from the parking space, crushing yellow leaves as he went, and drove off towards the highway. Yellow signs lined the road, the desert a landscape of dust surrounding him. But he liked driving. He liked the quiet opportunity it gave him to think. Contemplate. Be alone.

It wasn't a too long a drive before he reached the city, with all its neon lights and sparkling signs. He'd often wondered how it was that he'd ended up in Las Vegas, a place where it was impossible to see the stars unless he drove far out into the desert. A place where he'd often felt misplaced because he didn't care about appearances, looks, the shallow aspects of life that the city was all about. But he loved it here. Somehow, he loved it here.

Turning left, he parked his car outside the post office and sighed once again. He was tired. He needed a day off. He needed just twenty four hours away from the lectures and paperwork, and that bothered him. When had he ever needed a day away from work?

Unbuckling his seatbelt, his gaze fell to a dark silhouette walking down the sidewalk just inches away from the car. A black coat, high heels meeting the concrete ground loudly, long dark brown hair combed through by the wind. He got out of the car. It'd been a while, but he'd recognize her anywhere. The way she walked, steps so confident and strong. There was something different about her. Something he'd never seen in anyone else.

Stepping up in front of her, he must have startled her because she looked up at him in shock. "Grissom," she said, her eyes scanning his face, "What are you doing here?"

But his breath was stuck in his throat. His heart was beating fast and slow at the same time, making his chest hurt and his head hurt and he felt himself stare. Stare, blink, and stare. Her cheek was blue, skin cut deeply, raw. Bloody. Heartbreaking. He swallowed loudly. "I-I was just going to pick up a box," he stuttered, feeling her eyes pierce right through him.

Heather. The wind blew through her hair and it made her shiver, her eyes closing briefly and he took the opportunity to reach out and touch her neck, tilt her head to get a better look. He'd been taught always to get a better look, but this time, it only made things worse. His breath fell short.

"Grissom, don't," she said, tilting her head back, letting her eyes meet his, "Leave me alone."

The black corset she had on looked too tight against her bruised skin. There was no necklace around her neck, but he noticed a rosary that dangled from her fingers. He bit his lip. "It doesn't work that way, Heather. I'm still your friend. Who did this to you?"

But she only shook her head. "What way? You live your life, I live mine. You don't know anything about me anymore." The wind was harsh on her skin and she shivered again. "Leave me alone."

With that, she walked passed him, the wind stealing her perfume before it had a chance to reach him. He turned to look after her, feeling motionless, helpless, even more tired than he had before. So many times, she'd had such an impact on him and his life. He knew he wasn't good with people, reading people, knowing what to say or how to act, but it wasn't like that with her. Maybe because he'd never felt confused in her presence, everything was just so honest and real. But then he was left standing much like he did now, and it made him feel tired. Old. Worn out. Pissed off.

Turning to walk after her, it was as if new strength had filled his bloodstream. He realized that she owed him nothing, that his marriage to Sara meant that whatever chemistry they had between them would never lead to anything. But he didn't care, he was too tired of caring. It was impossible to shake away the image of her bruised face. Her eyes so familiar. She'd once told him that every profession has its flaws, that bruises were a part of her job. But she was a dominatrix. And she would never let a man hit her.

"Stop following me," she said without looking back at him. But he wouldn't.

They walked like that for ten minutes, maybe even twenty, before she suddenly stopped and he almost walked right into her. She didn't turn around completely, but far enough for him to see her face in profile. Her tears were paths of mascara down her cheeks. "I've never been submissive to anyone in my life," she started, her voice gentle, soft. "I like control. I like knowing exactly what's going to happen. It was different with you, I was a very different person back then, I know that now."

He watched her brush her black tears away and look at her fingertips. What this man had done to her, Grissom couldn't even begin to imagine, but so many crime scene photos and autopsy scenes of abused and raped women flashed through his mind. It was a horror movie without a pause button. Then she looked back at him. "Leave me alone. We're nothing alike, you and I, and we don't need to be. You won't like my world. You won't like it here."

"Please, Heather." Grissom reached up to touch her cheek and she closed her eyes to the warmth of his hand. And then she turned away, the sound of her steps drowning in the music coming from the alley she'd decided to walk into. As he watched her walk away, disappearing in a crowd of leather and lace, he realized that maybe she was right. Maybe he'd once made a decision that had excluded her, that whatever chemistry they'd once had just couldn't exist anymore.

He realized that he'd changed not only his job, but his whole self. And that he had no right judging her for doing the same.


End file.
